


Moonlit Visitor

by jellybeanforest



Series: Creature Comforts: A Stony Anthology [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Alternate Universe - No Powers, BAMF Tony Stark, Cap-IronMan Tiny Reverse Bang, Cap-Ironman Bingo, Capwolf, Domestic Violence, Gaslighting, Getting Together, It's not paranoia if someone is actually after you, M/M, Obsessive Tiberius Stone, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Physical Abuse, Pre-Slash, Protective Steve Rogers, Sort Of, Stalking, Tony considers giving Steve the Old-Yeller treatment, Tony considers putting Steve out of his misery, Tony's Evil Exes, Werewolf Steve Rogers, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26252590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanforest/pseuds/jellybeanforest
Summary: While hiding out from an abusive ex, a reclusive Tony Stark finds an absolutely-massive, critically-wounded golden-retriever husky mix on his lakeside property in the wee hours of the morning.Or:Steve is bitten by a werewolf during WWII. He and Peggy move to a cabin by the lake so Steve can run free during his time of the month. Their relationship falls apart under the strain of his condition, post-war adjustment difficulties, and his inability to age. He realizes he can’t give Peggy children nor can he grow old with her, so he leaves, escaping in his wolf form. She eventually moves on. Steve checks in on her occasionally, appearing to her again in human form after her husband dies and she’s suffering from Alzheimer’s. He keeps her company and maintains the cabin to ensure she’s comfortable. However, when she tells her children about Steve, they think her Alzheimer’s is worsening, and her daughter moves in until she passes. To avoid detection, Steve no longer visits, but when he is injured, he returns to the cabin, only to find that a shotgun-wielding maniac lives there now.For the 2020 Cap-IronMan Tiny Reverse Bang and Cap-IronMan Bingo 2020 Round 2 – Tooth. Based on a prompt (SERUM).
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark/Tiberius Stone
Series: Creature Comforts: A Stony Anthology [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041672
Comments: 35
Kudos: 445
Collections: 2020 Cap/Iron Man Tiny Reverse Bang, Captain America/Iron Man Bingo





	Moonlit Visitor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarthBloodOrange (DepressingGreenie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DepressingGreenie/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Relaxing Bath [!Art]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24818647) by [DarthBloodOrange (DepressingGreenie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DepressingGreenie/pseuds/DarthBloodOrange). 



> In this AU, werewolves involuntarily shift during the full moon but can voluntarily shift at other times as well.

“You’re making a grave mistake, Tony.”

It’s a threat, but Tony is beyond caring. “The only mistake I’ve made is staying as long as I have.”

Ty uses his bulk to loom large over him, planting hands on either side of Tony to box him in against a wall and block potential exits. “You really don’t want to cross me. One word from Viastone Media and Stark Industries is finished.”

He isn’t touching him. Yet.

Tony stands his ground. “The DoD isn’t going to pull their contracts based on little more than unsubstantiated rumor.”

“You really want to take that risk, baby?” And now Ty strokes Tony’s cheek, a feather-light touch too soft to bruise, an invasion disguised as a simulacrum of care. Tony shivers nonetheless, more from fear than want, just before the fingers travel up, twisting into his hair, tightening to pull back his head. “I could make life very difficult for you if you force my hand.”

“Let go of me!” Tony snaps, carefully extracting Ty’s fingers from his locks and taking a half-step back, so he’s nearly flush against the wall. “That doesn’t work anymore. You can’t threaten me.”

“Who’s threatening? I could just… stop suppressing the rumors already swirling around SI. I’ve been looking after you for so long, cleaning up your messes–”

“Bullshit.”

Ty’s nostrils flare, his tone practically dripping with venom. “I have, Tony, and you don’t appreciate anything I do for you. You don’t know how good you have it!”

“What about what happened in Barcelona?” Tony challenges him.

His eyes narrow in mock confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh really? What about Tokyo? Seoul?” Tony leans forward, reclaiming his space. “And don’t get me started on LA three months ago. I needed stitches.”

“We both know you fell–”

“I was trying to get away from _you_.”

Ty massages his forehead and sighs heavily. “You think I’m the problem here? Really? Who found whom at the bottom of a bottle, trying to drink himself to death? Before me, you were nothing but a drunk whore on the verge of his next public breakdown.”

“And now I’m a frequent flyer to the ER. I know the nurses at Mount Sinai _by name_ , Ty. That’s not normal!”

Ty clutches Tony’s arm, squeezing tightly as his facial expression goes tight. “You are a danger to yourself.”

Tony yanks his arm free, slipping out the side to back away from Ty. “Don’t touch me!”

Instead, the man advances on him. “You ungrateful bitch! After all I’ve done for you!” He roughly grabs hold of Tony as his voice drops low, growing dangerous. “Do you see what you’re doing to me?” he accuses him. “You’re always doing this; always trying to turn me into a monster–”

“You are a monster.”

Ty shakes him. “Deflecting again, aren’t you? It’s what you do best. It’s never _Tony’s_ fault, is it? No, it couldn’t be. Because _Tony_ is always the victim, but I really want you to think about it, consider the pattern for a minute. First, it’s your father, then Sunset and Indries, Kathy and now me. So, tell me, Tony: What’s the common denominator in all your failed relationships, hm? Come on, baby, you’re supposed to be a genius; I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Tony bites back, “My father was bad luck, just a terrible hand in life, and – probably related – I have terrible taste in partners.”

“Or you’re so infuriating, a person can’t help but go crazy trying to fix you. You think I like being like this? Of course not, but I can’t help it around you. You’re always making me into the bad guy. You have the power to shape the future, to bend others to your will, and you waste your talents on dragging me down.”

“If I’m so horrible, why stay with me?”

“Because I love you, Tony. I love you so much, I can’t let you go. I keep thinking things will get better, and they will, if only you would just _listen_.”

“Let me go, Ty,” Tony says, standing stock-still, unmoving.

“Tony–”

“No! I– I can’t! I can’t do this anymore!”

The grip on his arm tightens to the point of pain. “Tony, you’re being hysterical–”

“Mr. Stark, your car is waiting,” a member of Ty’s personal security – a middle-aged man in a crisp black suit – announces.

It’s nothing he or any of Ty’s security detail hasn’t seen (or covered up) before, but Ty must not want to make a scene, because he drops Tony’s arm, subtly smoothing out the fabric there as if he was simply brushing off some lint.

“This isn’t over,” he says in hushed tones.

Tony straightens his lapels and shirt sleeves, summoning as much determination as he can. “Goodbye, Ty.”

“For now.”

“For good.”

Ty chuckles, leaning in to place a kiss at the base of his ear. “You really think you get to walk away from me?” he mutters, low enough so only Tony can hear. “I’ll always come for you. Make no mistake about that.”

* * *

The fallout is messy.

Viastone Media goes on full offense, their tabloids publishing salacious articles featuring the lowlights of Tony’s checkered past, tearful accounts of past lovers he had allegedly wronged further bolstered by sources “close to Mr. Stark” who wished to remain anonymous because they are not authorized to speak to his history of alcoholism, rampant drug use, and belligerent behavior. But the most damaging reports were on Stark Industries’ alleged dealings with terrorist cells in the Middle East leaked to, published, and given weight by numerous more-reputable papers. They were all unfounded rumors, of course, and the wording reflected this, if one was to read past the sensational headlines, but the DoD launched a probe into the allegations anyways.

Tony had had two panic attacks and a near-meltdown in the past three weeks, so Pepper had strongly suggested he go on a short sabbatical away from the media storm as she worked on countering the rather persistent smear campaign while complying with the audit ordered by SI’s largest and most profitable customer.

And so on a whim, Tony had procured a picturesque cabin situated by a lake upstate, purchased in cash (routed through a series of shell companies to avoid detection) from the estate of Margaret Carter after her death from Alzheimer’s. He had spent days outfitting the place with security cameras and installing a mini-workshop in the detached shed for him to tinker with various personal projects. It kept his hands busy and his mind off the firestorm that had engulfed his life in the wake of his separation from Ty.

Luckily for Tony, there is quite a lot of work to do. His newly-acquired sanctuary had been built from scratch by the original owner in the forties shortly after the war. It has wood paneling throughout and old-fashioned furniture custom-built to match that Tony had opted to keep. Though the decor isn’t exactly to his taste, he supposes it fits the rustic vibe of the property. The front door opens to reveal the living room comprised of a stone fireplace at the proximal end bookended by a set of leather recliners and a couch with a solidly-built coffee table in the center. Beyond the living room is a small bedroom with a large ensuite bathroom to the left and a full kitchen to the right where Tony had installed his very own espresso machine. A second back entrance leads out the kitchen onto the back porch. There’s also a loft area accessible from a set of stairs nested behind the bedroom wall in the adjacent dining nook. Tony assumes the loft is additional storage space and plans to turn it into a surveillance command center. It’s an odd space. The ceiling is tall enough to be a livable floor, but contrary to current fashions, there are no windows in the loft, and the entire area is covered in flattened, fading carpet and peeling yellowed wallpaper sporting a particularly-hideous old-fashioned pink floral print more suited to kitschy china sets.

Tony wonders about the difference in design choices of the loft versus the rest of the cabin. Unlike the loft, the walls in the primary floor revel in the beauty of natural wood with the architect exposing the natural variations in the grain as a feature to be celebrated rather than hidden beneath some of the tackiest wallpaper Tony has ever seen. One of the first things he had done was to rip off the wallpaper and pull up the carpet himself.

He wishes he had left it up.

There are deep notches in the wall and the center of the floor, some ringed in rust as if an iron bar had originally been driven through it. And around it, in a wide arc of damage, are irregular grooves in the wood, wide and deep. At first he worried he had come across a crime scene – something reminiscent of Saw – before he realized the scratches (though grouped in rows of five) are too wide apart to be human. Perhaps they are superficial damage left by very heavy boxes (with ridges?) and then poorly repaired to make them appear larger or maybe they’re from furniture that had been rocked and pushed to and fro, leaving a series of disturbing marks.

Tony tries not to think about it.

Overall, the cabin is solid, reinforced to survive any number of catastrophes. That and its relative seclusion are precisely why Tony purchased it.

If those features had also been points in favor of more nefarious purposes, Tony puts it from his mind. The carpet and wallpaper covering the damage are decades-old, and the nearest town is sleepy enough that most crimes back in the day were cow-tipping and public drunkenness, not mysterious disappearances and mutilated corpses. Tony had checked.

And then rechecked two days later to be sure, reviewing all the microfiches in the local library while incognito, wearing his hoodie up and sunglasses on to avoid identification.

The marks suggestive of involuntary captivity do nothing to soothe his insomnia, his aching loneliness. Ty is an abusive piece of shit but at least Tony hadn’t been alone most nights with just himself for companionship, because at the end of the day, Tony is terrible company. It’s a wonder Ty would want to hold onto him so badly, but Tony knows better. He knows Ty’s obsession isn’t about Tony per se but about control, and his ex simply couldn’t stand that he no longer had Tony under his thumb.

And so Tony does what he always does when he can’t sleep and sex isn’t an option. He works. The taser gloves he’s inventing are clearly overkill as a self-defense gadget, but he figures there might be a market if he can work out the kinks, namely if he can reduce the voltage of the beam to stun rather than instant kill.

He thinks he’s done it when the lights cut out. He sighs audibly – “Not again” – and fumbles in the dark for a flashlight. The generator is old and finicky, not optimized to provide all the electricity Tony needs between his security system and late-night tinkering. He feels his way around the workshop, his hand running along the aluminum siding until he reaches the ancient thing. He had considered tearing it out and upgrading to solar once he realized the limitations in output, but the parts aren’t due in until the following day. He didn’t like being without eyes on all corners of the property. What if Ty–

There’s a rustling outside, something large moving through the brush, coming closer.

_Ty_

Tony reaches under his workstation, throwing aside various tools and scrap, the beam of his flashlight quivering in his sweaty palm.

_Where is it?_

_Where–_

His fingers close around the base of the barrel of a 12-gauge shotgun.

Placing the flashlight on the floor angling the beam at his hands, he cracks it open and loads the gun, slipping additional bullets into his pocket just in case. He closes the barrel then stands, turning off and pocketing the flashlight. He lets his eyes adjust to the dark and with one final steadying breath, walks out of the shed with more confidence then he feels, his finger resting just outside the trigger guard.

He cocks his shotgun, aims into the dark lit only by the light of the full moon. He searches for a moving form, for a flash in the brush. “I’m armed,” he calls out, “and I swear to God, Ty, if that’s you, I will not hesitate to shoot off your dick!”

There’s more rustling, this time fleeing from his position, followed by a pained whimper, but it doesn’t sound human.

Tony steps out slowly, carefully picking his way through the tall grass and brush until he locates the source of the noise: it is a large, absolutely-massive dog, its light fur streaked and matted with blood and its gait compromised as it seemingly eyes the shotgun, cries out, then attempts to limp away from Tony.

Tony lowers the muzzle. The dog doesn’t seem particularly dangerous, wounded and quivering as it is. He approaches. She seems tame enough, but she’s in a lot of pain, and the wounds appear life-threatening. Even if it wasn’t so late and they weren’t far from civilization, from veterinary care, Tony is uncertain whether he can get her back to the car or if she would fit in the backseat. He’s not even sure she would survive the journey.

He doesn’t want her to suffer for hours unnecessarily. The kinder thing to do would be to put her out of her misery.

Tony raises the shotgun, aiming for a headshot. The dog howls in fear, her attempts to crawl back into the surrounding forest, nearly dragging her bum leg behind her and whimpering from the exertion.

Tony can’t do it.

He leans the shotgun against a log and approaches the dog carefully, softly patting its haunches in an area that looks undamaged. “It’s okay, girl. We’ll get you into the house and clean you up, yeah?” he promises. Perhaps she will pass in the night, perhaps Tony is just being a fool by hoping for better, but he can’t shoot a sniveling creature scared for her life right between the eyes. “I just… I just need you to help me a bit. You’re too big for me to carry, okay?”

Surprisingly, the dog seems to understand, because she now limps alongside Tony, leaning heavily against him on her way to the cabin.

“Wait here,” he tells her once he gets her inside the dark foyer. “I’ll get the lights.”

He returns to the detached shed and spends several minutes swearing and kicking the generator until it rattles back to life. The lights in the cabin and shed flicker on until both are awash in a soft glow. 

Back in the cabin, the dog is sitting upright, waiting for Tony at the door, her tail wagging. In the bright light of the cabin, she is gorgeous, though bedraggled, her silky golden fur tangled and marred with blood and burrs. Tony considers whether a glandular issue is responsible for the dog’s size. Perhaps that was the problem. Her original family thought she wouldn’t grow so large or they couldn’t afford the vet bills to address the issue and decided abandonment would be more expedient than simply rehoming her.

Some people are monsters.

“Aren’t you a pretty girl?” Tony says, hands running through her thick fur. “Why don’t we get you in the bath? See what we’re working with?” That way Tony can check on the extent of the damage and estimate her chances of living through the night. In the morning, he can try to find a vet who does house calls.

Strangely, without any direction from Tony, the dog limps towards the bedroom. Tony follows after as she enters the tub in the ensuite and waits for him to turn on the faucet. There is no way this is just any stray. She’s too well-trained. If she survives the night, Tony can put up some ‘Found’ posters. She’s too distinctive for someone not to recognize.

He starts the bath. He doesn’t have dog shampoo, but he hopes his rejuvenating designer shampoo isn’t too horrible for pets. It’s a new organic, non-GMO, free-range concoction shilled by some health guru with whom Ty had recently become enamored.

Ty had been very specific about the amount to use when Tony sleeps over, because it is expensive and he never liked Tony using his things. Sometimes, Tony even thinks his stinginess is another way to assert control.

He pours the whole bottle on the dog, lightly working the shampoo into her fur, gently scrubbing around the areas of most damage.

“I think I’ll call you Veronica. I used to date a girl named Veronica who was this exact shade of bottle blond. It’s really uncanny,” but when he gets lower, feeling through the long fur of the dog’s abdomen, he finds a surprise.

The dog yelps, backing up and closing his legs.

“So. Not a girl,” Tony states flatly. Of course the dog hadn’t been neutered. It’s a level of irresponsibility Tony should have expected from humans who clearly abandoned their dog in the woods, presumably to die. “Maybe tomorrow we’ll look into getting you fixed; what do you think about that, boy?”

The dog – Vernon, Tony has decided – chuffs at the suggestion. He doesn’t seem particularly happy, but then again, who would be? Tony shakes his head; being alone for a week has driven him stir-crazy; there’s no way Vernon can actually _understand_ him or the danger he represents to his balls.

As Tony delicately cleans off the blood, the underlying wounds seem less egregious than he had anticipated, and by the end, Vernon seems happy and more-or-less miraculously healthy. He even appears to move around with less pain.

“Huh, that’s… unexpected.” Tony checks the ingredients list on the empty shampoo bottle, wondering if the messages extolling its calming, restorative effects are more accurate than he had initially thought. He had been almost 100% certain the guy had been bullshitting his claims, but maybe he was on to something.

He looks up out the window, where the light of a grey dawn is just beginning to filter through. It’s very early or late, considering Tony hadn’t gone to bed yet.

Upon noticing morning’s approach, Vernon becomes immediately distressed; he bolts up and out of the bath, nearly diving for the door. Tony can’t let him leave. He’ll get wet fur everywhere and absolutely ruin the finish on his wood floors.

“Whoa, boy! Vernon, calm down!” He tries to hold him back, nearly hanging from the dog’s massive neck when it happens.

Vernon twinges in pain, falling onto the floor, spasming and howling as Tony lets go and falls back on his ass, scooting away to avoid the dog’s lashing forelegs. He’s uncertain what is happening.

Maybe a seizure? Does Vernon have epilepsy? _Oh God._ Vernon has epilepsy.

But the dog is doing more than twisting in pain. His very form is undulating, warping and shrinking, the fur seemingly retracting back into bare skin, snout and teeth shortening, as the dog transforms into a very attractive, very naked man.

Tony screams, scrambles up on wobbly legs and nearly stumbles out, slamming the door behind him and lodging his body at the base, his arms out to brace against the doorframe to keep it closed. His breathing is heavy, gasping and irregular, his heart thumping in his chest.

_What. The. Fuck._

From within the bathroom, a voice calls out. “Could I… could I maybe borrow some clothes please?”

Tony turns on his knees to crack open the door a hair to peek at the man, his blonde hair the same shade as the fur that had so recently blanketed his entire body. He is sitting on the edge of the tub, having wrapped Tony’s towel around his waist, a pretty blush spread from his face down to his chest.

Tony shuts the door again.

Vernon is a big guy, unlikely to fit any of Tony’s clothing, but lucky for him, Tony had found an unworn set of Ty’s silk pajamas at the bottom of his overnight bag that he had yet to donate to the nearest homeless shelter.

He sticks out his foot, tangles it in the handles of the aforementioned bag to pull it closer so he can root through the contents, producing the pajamas, which he carefully slides into the bathroom for Vernon to get dressed. Then he sits on the bed to wait.

The man emerges minutes later, ears red, eyes downturned.

“So,” Tony begins.

“So…”

Tony clears his throat but before he can launch into a slew of questions, Vernon asks, “Where’s Peggy? Are you a family friend?”

_Peggy?_

“Are we not going to talk about how you were a golden retriever three minutes ago?” he inquires in lieu of a response.

“A wolf.”

“What?”

“I was a wolf. Golden retrievers have floppy ears.”

“I thought you were a mix with like… I don’t know, a husky? Wolves aren’t blond or domesticated and attracted to human settlements,” Tony runs his fingers through his hair. “And– and you know what? Not important right now. So… werewolves exist. That’s just… that’s fantastic. Just what I need.”

The wolf-man takes offense. “And you think this is what? A walk in the park for me? You almost shot me.”

“You were at death’s door. Even if I could lift you, _which is doubtful_ , I wasn’t sure you’d survive the transfer, much less the drive to the nearest vet.”

“I got better!”

“Clearly.” Tony sighs, places one hand on his hip and the other pinching the bridge of his nose. He supposes he should at least introduce himself. It’s not every day he meets a bona fide cryptid. “The name’s Tony by the way.”

“Steve.” The man says. He crosses his arms, notes the changes Tony has made to the bedroom since he took up residence, and asks, “What happened to Peg?”

Tony shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, buddy. I bought this place from the estate of Margaret Carter.”

“The estate? So she’s…” Steve hunches his shoulders down and inward as he buries his face in his hands and starts to weep.

Tony doesn’t know what to do. He can’t just… leave, can he? It seems rude to leave but equally so to stay and just watch a stranger’s heart break. So, he reaches out, pats Steve’s nearest shoulder in awkward comfort.

“Did she… Was– was it peaceful?” Steve manages.

Probably? Though Tony had never met her personally , the woman had to be over ninety; the seller herself – her daughter he had supposed – appeared to be in her sixties at least. “I’m sure she lived a full life.”

Steve only nods, too choked-up to say anything more on the issue.

* * *

Not knowing the etiquette of the situation or if any guidelines even existed for such a bizarre occurrence, Tony offers Steve a place to stay for a few days until he can sort out what he’s going to do now that his grandmother(?) and presumably the only person who had known his secret had passed on into the hereafter.

Belatedly, he realizes there’s only one bed, so he clumsily amends his offer to “You can sleep on the couch or… wherever you usually stay when you used to visit.” There’s no way a grown man slept in the same bed as an older female relative.

As it turned out, where Steve usually stayed is the loft, which now served as Tony’s new surveillance room. He stands at the top of the stairs, peering into the windowless room. “You got rid of the wallpaper,” he comments after a beat.

“Yeah…”

“Good. I hated the pattern. Janie – that’s Peggy’s girl – picked it out when she was six. It was hideous, absolutely awful.”

Steve looks up at the various screens, covering different sections of the property, different blind spots and areas vulnerable to attack. “Why do you have so many eyes on the outside?”

“Vindictive stalker ex-boyfriend. Long story.”

Steve raises a brow at that. “Ex-boyfriend?” he repeats.

“Yeah,” Tony states flatly. “That a problem?” Upstate New York is more conservative than the City, but if Steve has an issue with Tony’s sexuality, he doesn’t have to stay. He can go live naked in the woods for all Tony cares.

“No.” Steve looks over at the screen showing a cropping of trees. “Used to be a man would call the fella he was sweet on his ‘roommate.’ Most folks knew what was going on when neither married, but no one ever said it outright. Just hearing a man calling another man his boyfriend out loud is surprising is all.”

Tony corrects him, “Ex-boyfriend.”

“Times have changed,” Steve muses.

“Not as quickly as one would hope if the phrase ‘his boyfriend’ is enough to surprise you.”

He shrugs. “What can I say? I grew up old-fashioned.”

“It’s not going to be a problem for you, right?” Tony reiterates. He doesn’t want to wake up with teeth tearing into his neck, going for the jugular.

“Would be kind of hypocritical of me if it were.”

That gives him pause. “…You?”

“I like both, but my major relationships have been women.” Steve nervously scratches the back of his neck. “For obvious reasons.”

Tony tilts his head to the side, considering this new side of his companion. “Huh. You’d think that in the phrase ‘bisexual werewolf,’ the werewolf part would be the thing that surprises people, makes them judgmental.”

“I wasn’t born a werewolf. It was just an unfortunate thing that happened, like losing a leg.”

“Like people don’t stare at amputees, too.”

Steve crosses his arms and frowns. “…You’re kind of a jerk, you know that?”

“So I’ve heard.” Tony taps his fingers along his thigh. “Breakfast?”

* * *

It’s nice having someone else around the cabin, even if he is a werewolf and a stranger. Steve chops wood for the fireplace, prunes the vegetation around the cabin, and cooks while Tony works. The solar panels required to upgrade the generator do not arrive, but the generator seems to be holding up for the time being. Tony doesn’t ask Steve many questions and Steve returns the favor.

Until dinner, that is.

Perhaps it’s the quiet, the stillness, now that they’re stuck inside together after a day of completing other chores separately which emboldens Tony. That or the red wine.

“So… how did you become a werewolf?” he asks, after he’s had a couple glasses.

Unfortunately, Steve is a little less than forthcoming. “Got bit.”

Tony waits for him to elaborate, but when the man doesn’t, he continues, “Are there like… a lot of you then?”

_Is he going to have to put up some sort of electric fence to keep the local werewolves at bay?_

Steve considers his answer. “No, not that I’ve met anyway. Certainly none in the general vicinity if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Okay, that answers that question, but something still seemed off about the whole situation. “And uh… Peggy. She was your grandmother or a great aunt or–”

“You sure ask a lot of questions.”

“Just making conversation. Besides, it’s not every day you meet a werewolf.”

Steve is quiet then, pensive, before he finally says, “I loved her, you know. Peggy.”

Tony supposes that’s understandable. “I’m sure you did. A kindly old lady takes you in? You’re bound to develop some fond feelings for her.” He tips his wine glass to his lips.

But Steve gives him a strange look. “I was _in love_ with her.”

Tony nearly chokes, beating his chest as he coughs. “A little old for you, don’t you think?”

“I’m three years older than her,” he says flatly. “We met before I was… like this.”

Tony is stunned. “What’s your secret? La Mer? A Faustian bargain with the Devil? Soaking in the blood of newborn babes?” He snaps his fingers. “Sunscreen?”

“Werewolf curse,” Steve says, swirling his own untouched glass. “Trust me, you want none of this. Eternal youth is not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“So, you’re like… immortal, right?”

He shakes his head. “No, I can still die.”

“How do you know that? You came back from the brink of death like yesterday.”

“I shot the one that bit me. Shot him in the head. He seemed pretty dead after.”

Tony gives him a look.

“What can I say? It was war; we compromised. Sometimes in ways that made us not sleep so well. But he was a Nazi or at least on their side, so… there’s that.”

_Nazis?_

“So. World War II, huh?”

Steve doesn’t quite look at Tony when he replies. “We called it the Survival War back in the day, and we did what we had to to survive, to preserve our way of life. Then we came back, and– and it was hard to adjust to… to everything.” Steve means and Tony understands it to include his lycanthropy. “I couldn’t do that to Peg, tether her to a man who couldn’t give her what she deserved.”

“Maybe she didn’t care. Maybe what she wanted was you,” Tony says before he can think better of it.

That seems to set Steve off. He nearly growls, “You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. She got married, had a family; she was happy.”

“And you watched it all from the sidelines, sticking to the shadows.” Like a Goddamn stalker.

“Only after Dan died!” he protests before his voice goes soft. “She was all alone out here after he died, and the kids moved to the city. It became… difficult for her to manage on her own. Her memory was going – and the way it happens, it takes the most recent things first, degrades them, like living life in reverse – but– but she remembered me, and I was glad I could help her until Janie started staying with her instead,” Steve says with conviction. “I’m glad she wasn’t alone in the end.”

Tony can’t imagine it, what it would be like for Steve to see the person he loved (the only one he ever loved enough to leave) to regress like that, and to be himself perfectly healthy and just as equally helpless to watch it happen.

“It must have been difficult, watching her go. Both times.”

“It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure, but at least she lived a good life, a full life.”

And maybe it’s the wine talking or how sad Steve looks, but Tony adds, “You deserve to live a full life, too, Steve.”

“We don’t all get what we deserve,” he replies. He seems about to say something else when he perks up and gazes out the window. “Someone’s coming.”

Tony swears and shoots up from the table. He takes the stairs two at a time up to the control room where he witness a group of men on the screens fanning out, each wearing black ops gear complete with night vision goggles. Half his cameras are already disabled when he sees another man aim and shoot before the screen goes black. He makes a quick headcount based on what he had seen, but he knows the number already. It’s Ty’s personal security force: Six men plus the asshole himself.

“Do they work for your ex?” Steve asks.

Tony spins around to see his eyes trained on the dwindling screens, blinking out one by one. “Yeah, I recognize them. They’re his bodyguards, his fixers. They always covered for him when…” Tony looks away, nervously rubbing his left elbow. “I don’t know what’ll happen this time. I’ve never tried to leave before.”

“…Seven to one. That doesn’t seem quite fair.”

Tony goes to the weapons cabinet, pulling out various flash grenades and shakily loading his handgun. “Yeah well, that’s Ty for you.”

He hears a growl and turns to watch as Steve’s claws extend and his teeth elongate, his voice growing rough and garbled.

“He should have brought more.”

* * *

Tony stays in the control room while Steve goes out on the hunt. Using the last four cameras placed high up in the trees, he watches as Steve stalks Ty’s men in the brush, taking a wide arc out and circling back, padding through the thicket.

He jumps on the first man’s back, tearing off the bulletproof vest in one snap of his jaws as the man screams, then leaping off when the second who had come to help shoots the first in the back. He body slams the would-be rescuer, and the machine gun discharges wildly, taking out a third. A fourth takes cover behind a log, shakily palming his gun, he ends up accidentally shooting a fifth man between the eyes who had come to his aid before he himself is attacked from behind by Steve, ripped to pieces by his claws rather than his teeth.

Five down. Two to go.

Tony curses when the sixth man actually manages to clip Steve, lodging a bullet low in his chest. Steve yelps and quickly leaps back into the brush, alive but wounded.

Tony can’t stay here, cowering in the dark while Steve fights his demons.

And so he rushes back down the stairs and out the back, stopping by the detached shed before continuing to where he had last seen Steve.

By the time Tony comes upon the scene, the sixth man is dead underneath a growling Steve who stands frozen, staring down Ty who has his gun trained on the large wolf.

“Hey asshole!” Tony yells just as he lobs a flash grenade at Ty. The bomb goes off, and Ty screams as he’s blinded, losing sight of Steve when he rips the night vision goggles from his face.

Unfortunately, Steve is similarly blinded. He yelps, shakes his head at the assault on his highly-tuned senses.

When Ty and Steve come back to themselves, Tony is standing between them, his hand up, palm facing his ex, the taser glove activated and glowing.

Ty holds up his hands. “Have you gone insane?!”

“Get the fuck out,” Tony tells Ty, his tone serious, brooking no argument. “Because the next time I see you, I’m feeding you to the wolves.” Steve comes up beside him then, sliding his head under Tony’s free hand to nuzzle against him as he growls at Ty in warning.

“You killed my men.”

“Half were mauled by a large animal who will be gone by the time police show, and the other half expired by friendly fire. I think the police will be more interested to know why your personal security force was dressed as they are, carrying the weapons they were, circling the remote property of an ex-boyfriend whose only crime was to try to get away from you,” Tony says calmly, laying out the damning circumstances. “I’m not a media mogul, but how do you think that tracks? Do you think they and the general public will be able to connect the dots and come to some rather surprising but obvious conclusions?”

“Tony–”

The whirr of the repulsor in his palm grows louder. “Out, Ty. I won’t tell you again.”

* * *

Tony had called the police shortly after, and it took them a further forty-five minutes to locate the property, to take his statement and what little video evidence there was before the attacks so they could piece together what had happened: Namely, that Tiberius Stone had sent hitmen after his most recent ex and they had inexplicably failed, perished in a freak accident involving a very large bear and friendly fire, as all the fatal bullets came from the weapons they themselves carried.

But before the police can arrive, Tony insists on caring for Steve’s wounds.

“This is really unnecessary,” Steve had told him. “I heal very quickly.”

“Sh! Just let me,” he says, as he carefully cleans around the wound that had already expelled the bullet and was started to close up. He presses some gauze to staunch what little bleeding is left and patches it with a bandage. It’s probably healed already, smooth and unblemished as if nothing had ever happened.

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Tony replies. He starts to pack away his first aid kit. “Why did you decide to help me anyway?”

“I don’t like bullies.” Steve closes his hand over Tony’s, stilling him. “You didn’t deserve what he did to you, Tony.”

“I should have left earlier, when he hit me the first time, then maybe…” _maybe it wouldn’t have gotten so bad, maybe it wouldn’t have come to this._

“You left when you could, and even then, he still tried to come after you,” Steve tells him. “It wasn’t your fault. None of this was your fault.”

Tony glances up at him. “You think?”

“I know.”

Tony doesn’t think he’s reading the situation wrong when he leans in just as Steve does, his eyes drift closed, their lips a breath apart–

The lights die then, the rattling generator having cut out. _Again._

“God damn it!” That’s it; Tony is getting it fixed in the morning even if he has to dismantle the oven for the parts.

Steve is chuckling softly. “I can fix it for you, if you want. It’s a fiddly thing, and it’s been a while, but I always had a way with the old girl.”

And when Steve does manage to fix it with some love and a well-placed knock, even Tony is impressed. “You know, if you’re looking for a job, I’ll need a caretaker for the property.”

“Pardon?”

“A caretaker,” Tony says, sliding an arm around Steve’s waist. “Kind of like a house-sitter, for when I’m back in the city… running-my-multi-billion-dollar-enterprise,” he finishes quickly, loud enough that he might be able to claim he told Steve about his wealth earlier but low enough that Steve might not hear, like auditory small print.

His eyes boggle instead. “Your what?”

But Tony just glosses over that little tidbit. “Boss can be a slave driver, but I hear the benefits are great.”

“…I can’t promise you forever.”

That’s okay with Tony; truth told, he’s not ready for that level of commitment. Not now. Maybe not ever. He leans in. “I was never one to believe in forever, but right now is fine.”

Steve wraps his arms around the man. “Alright. But just for the next decade or so.”

Tony laughs at that. “Only a decade, huh?”

“We can revisit the issue at a later date or whenever you want in the interim.”

“Oh, I’m gonna like you.” He leans in for a kiss–

Just as the cops pull up, sirens blaring.

“Oh, come on!” he complains, deciding that “If God exists, they’re a cockblocking son of a bitch!”

“Tony,” Steve admonishes him. “Language.”

Tony stops.

“…I’m sorry; did you just say ‘language’?”


End file.
